In Color
by gillasue345
Summary: It's their first full day off in months and Jimmy intends to go swimming, whether Thomas likes it or not. This is good news for visiting artist John Singer Sargent.


In Color

By: gillasue345

A Thommy one shot in the Jimmy Contra Mundi Universe

Rating: M

Summary: It's their first full day off in months and Jimmy intends to go swimming, whether Thomas likes it or not. This is good news for visiting artist John Singer Sargent.

NOTE: Set during the summer of 1924, approximately a year before JSS died.

NOTEY NOTE: I had to fudge on the details a little bit. The painting I'm thinking about was actually made in 1918. But for the purposes of this fic… it was made in the twenties. Have fun reading!

"Each of us is a lake of love, yet strangely enough, we are all thirsty."

~Swami Kripalu~

Mr. John Singer Sargent hated doing portraits; he'd always hated doing portraits. But they paid the bills, so he did them.

Nevertheless, portraits of young children were the bane of his existence. But then again he owed the Dowager a favor and she wanted a portrait of her great-grandchildren. And who was he to refuse?

And so, despite his growing fatigue caused—according to his doctors, by heart disease—he went to the English countryside.

He hated the monotony of begging fidgety children to remain still. George Crawley, the next Earl of Grantham, was only three. The little boy with white blond hair and dark expressive eyes was quiet and shy. He rarely spoke and did not like being handled by very many people. But he and Sybbie had a special bond. Where others had a hard time getting two words out of the sullen child, Sybbie could make George laugh out loud with just by crossing her eyes.

He found that the best time to paint them was right after the children had their morning naps. He would paint for exactly two hours a day then he released them to their nanny. The rest of the time he devoted to his true passion: watercolors.

Today had been particularly trying for Sargent. George had an ear infection, and did not stop screaming at the top of his lungs all through the sitting. Sybbie had apparently not gotten her way with nanny earlier that morning, and sat sullenly in her starched white dress with her hair pulled tightly back into a long dark braid. Even so, her wild curls were errantly springing from the plait. He had been trying for the last half hour of their session to get the coloring of her large eyes just right, and by the time nanny had returned from her late luncheon with Mr. Branson, (he assumed not much dinner had been consumed, given her flushed cheeks and hastily pinned bun,) he had all but given up.

Finally, he was released. Sargent retrieved his luncheon from the kitchen, winking at Mrs. Patmore and in turn getting an extra pastry in his basket.

He hurried down the stairs after picking up his watercolors. There was a particularly beautiful garden path that he'd been meaning to sketch out and he made his way south and towards a small copse of trees. He was pretty sure it led to the lake he'd overheard a maid and footman talking about earlier that week. He'd check that out later.

The servant's quarters was deserted as Jimmy leaned casually against the wall outside Thomas' bedroom. Thomas was ten minutes late.

"Thomas! If you don't hurry your arse up, I'm leaving without you so help me God!"

Jimmy shouted outside Thomas' door before pushing it open and leaning against the frame.

"Keep your shirt on!" Thomas shouted back. He cursed under his breath as his tie once again slipped the knot. "Damn it all!" He pulled it loose and started again. "I hate this bloody tie."

Jimmy crept forward and wrapped his arms around Thomas' middle. Thomas started slightly but relaxed when Jimmy rested his cheek against his back.

"Forget the tie," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to Thomas' shoulder blade. "I guarantee you're not going to be wearing it for long anyway,"

"Oh do you now?" Thomas chuckled.

"Hmm," Jimmy's hands trailed down to Thomas' waist and lower, resting lightly over the seam of his trousers. "I would bet on it."

"_Hn_…" he groaned. "Why don't we just go up to our attic?" he suggested breathlessly. "We can lie in bed all day and read… _oh_—it will be so much better than… being out in this infernal heat—"

"Thomas, I've been planning this day for a whole month. It's the first full day off we've had together in ages and it's positively gorgeous outside. We're going out and that's that." Jimmy pressed his lips to his neck and lightly sucked, smiling as he felt Thomas' pulse stutter and start to race. "If you really want to, you can bring the blasted poems. But hurry up, will you?"

"_Hmm…_Jimmy if you want to leave this room any time soon you'd better… _oh_…stop touching me and let me finish getting ready." Thomas turned around, letting Jimmy embrace him gently before grabbing the tie off of the dresser.

"Here, make yourself useful and help me with this blasted thing. You need the practice if you ever want to become Gillingham's proper valet." Jimmy sighed but took the tie, hooking it around Thomas' neck and pulling him closer.

He pressed a light kiss to Thomas' lips. "Right you are Mr. Barrow." Within minutes the tie was done and his jacket was on. Thomas scooped up the volume of Coleridge poems they'd discovered quite by accident the week before in the attic and followed Jimmy out.

Jimmy stopped by the kitchen for moment to pick up a light basket and one of the old quilts that Anna had pulled down from storage earlier that week for him. Ivy smiled at them on their way out the door.

"Have fun!" she cried as the door shut behind them.

They walked slowly through the gardens as they made their way to the far side of the estate.

"So where exactly are you taking me Mr. Kent?" Thomas asked, easily taking his arm as soon as they entered a small copse of woods on the southern edge of Downton's grounds.

"I'm not Mr. Kent yet, you know" Jimmy ran a hand through his hair. "I found this lake out here when I first arrived at Downton," Jimmy replied. "We're going swimming and you're going to enjoy yourself whether you like it or not."

"Aww Jimmy, you know I hate swimming, and besides, what if we're caught?"

"Thomas… _everyone_ knows about us. It isn't as if we're a secret around the house. Hell I think even the _Dowager_ knows, she damn near caught us in the entrance hall the other night."

"What!" Thomas exclaimed, "What d'you mean she almost caught us! If _you_ hadn't been so reckless—"

"If I recall correctly, you were the one who made the first move on that particular evening, _Mr. Barrow_. We won't be 'caught' anyway. I've been coming here for years and I've never seen another person, not one," Jimmy interrupted him. He pouted and Thomas felt himself giving in, once again. He could never say no to Jimmy. "Please, it's a lovely spot and the poet in you will find food for the imagination, I promise." His eyes were twinkling with mischief.

"Oh you _promise_, do you?"

The sheer earnestness in Jimmy's voice finally won Thomas over.

"Fine, but if my suit gets marked, _you're_ going to be shifting the stains."

Jimmy rolled his eyes. "Yes, Mr. Barrow, _sir_." Thomas smirked at Jimmy's cheek. Jimmy raised his eyebrows. Then very suddenly, Jimmy grabbed Thomas by the lapels and pressed him against one of the hundred year old oak trees. He let the basket fall gently to the ground and kissed him deeply, reverently, as if there were nowhere else he'd rather be.

They were Thomas' favorite kind of kisses.

Jimmy pressed closer to Thomas, their hips collided and Thomas arched forward. Jimmy kissed his smooth neck, up his chin, across the thin scar on his left cheekbone and finally back to his lips.

"I love you," he murmured against Thomas' mouth. He pressed hot, open mouthed kisses along Thomas' jaw, eliciting a gasp from the other man. Thomas would never get tired of hearing him say it.

"I l-love you too, my darling." Thomas stuttered, pressing his hands against Jimmy's lower back, pulling him closer. He could feel Jimmy's erection through his trousers and the blood rushed from his head and settled into a deep burn in the pit of his stomach.

Then just as suddenly as it began, Jimmy abruptly pulled away and continued on the wooded path towards the mysterious lake, whistling as if nothing had happened.

"You have got to be kidding me," Thomas grumbled, raking a hand through his unruly hair. He hadn't bothered with pomade that morning, knowing that Jimmy preferred it loose from the grease. _All the better to play with, _he'd once said. "Cheeky bastard," he mumbled. He self-consciously adjusted the waistband of his trousers and hurried after him.

He caught up easily to Jimmy, who was strolling down the path with his hands in his pockets, whistling the melody from Thomas' favorite Debussy concerto. Thomas reached out and took Jimmy's hand, lacing Jimmy's long, elegant fingers with his own. Jimmy looked down at their interwoven hands and smiled. His thumb rubbed a soothing rhythm against his glove, and they walked the final three miles toward the hidden lake in perfect, peaceful silence.

By the time they made it to the lake, the sun had been bearing down on them for the better part of an hour. Thomas was hot in his suit jacket.

The lake was situated in the back of a large meadow, in the valley of two large hills. It came upon them through the trees like a dream, or so Thomas thought. Sunlight was streaming through the fresh leaves and it made Jimmy's hair seem even more golden; for a moment, that was the only thought in his mind.

It was more a pond than lake, really, about a half mile long and a quarter mile wide, oval shaped. The water was murky around a dock that was slowly rotting away with age. But it was one of the prettiest spots Thomas had ever been to on the Estate. Or perhaps anywhere, for that matter.

It was so incredibly peaceful. And as he let his fingers slide over the waist high wildflowers leading up to the edge of the lake, he was unexpectedly taken back to a perfect afternoon he'd spent in France. A hard fought battle had just been won, and Thomas had been relieved after tending to the wounded for nearly twenty four hours straight.

The German artillery hadn't yet destroyed a perfect little field of wildflowers, and instead of going back to his tent in the filthy stinking trenches, he had fallen asleep right there in the middle of it. To this day he could still remember the way the petals brushed against his cheek as the sun kissed his face. But those flowers had been red.

These were the prettiest shade of purple Thomas had ever seen.

It was unseasonably warm for early May, and Jimmy calmly removed his jacket and placed it over his arm. There was a quiet confidence to his every move, as if he had all the time in the world. He moved so slowly that at first Thomas didn't realize that they were coming together.

Instinctively, his body moved closer. "This is a lovely spot," he commented, his voice soft. "I can see the appeal,"

"Hmm," Jimmy agreed.

"A lovely view," Thomas said and took another step forward, staring not at the lake, but at Jimmy's dark blue eyes. His voice was casual but his gaze was heated. They were so close now that Jimmy could count every single dark eyelash.

Jimmy put the basket on the ground stepped over it deliberately. He placed his hand over Thomas' collarbone, his fingers brushing against the vein down his neck and hooking into the color of his shirt. He bit his lip suggestively and Thomas zeroed in on the small gesture. Jimmy had such a lovely mouth.

Thomas felt a shiver run down his spine, despite the heat. It contrasted strangely with the deep burn that had started in his fingertips and radiated out to settle in his belly. He lifted his hands and placed them confidently on either side of Jimmy's face. They stared at one another for a long minute, each daring the other to make the first move. A deep tension rose up between them as they silently and motionlessly fought for dominance.

It had always been this way, a silent back and forth fight for dominance. He bit his lip, and Jimmy swallowed. Thomas couldn't help but smirk.

_I win, _both men thought simultaneously.

Jimmy kissed him then, pulling Thomas by the neck until there was no space left between them. Thomas responded in kind. Jimmy let his fingers slide down Thomas' shoulders, trailing all the way down to his fingertips before grabbing Thomas at his sides. He pressed his thumbs into the hint of bone on his hips. Then he let his fingers glide up and over Thomas' torso until they lay flat on his chest. Thomas suppressed a groan at his touch.

When Jimmy and Thomas had first gotten together, Thomas had been terrified to touch him, he had always let Jimmy take the initiative. That way he still had control, while still maintaining that Jimmy had some measure of control. And to some extent that was still true. Usually Jimmy still made the first move. Some vestiges of that old fear of rejection still remained.

But that had been a long time ago now, and Thomas was no longer afraid to touch back.

Thomas moaned into the kiss. He let his thumbs slide over Jimmy's smooth face, focusing his attention on a small line of scruff by his jaw that Jimmy had missed when he'd shaved that morning.

"You missed a spot," he whispered. He could feel Jimmy smile against his lips.

"We can't all be perfect."

"You're pretty damn close."

"I knew there was a reason I kept you around."

Thomas laughed.

As promised, Thomas' tie did not remain on for long. With quick practiced moves, Jimmy undressed Thomas, never breaking their kiss. Thomas groaned as he tried to do the same. He pulled away briefly, practically ripping off Jimmy's vest and trying to catch his breath.

"It's been too bloody long," he murmured against Jimmy's mouth.

"I agree," Jimmy gasped back as Thomas found bare skin. "We really need to—_uh_—coordinate better with Carson about days off…oh… _Jesus_," He palmed Jimmy's side, rubbing his thumb across a spot just above his lowest rib, where he knew Jimmy was especially sensitive. Jimmy hissed, and pressed harder against him at his touch.

"The good news is, Carson won't be back until after the Season. That means I have final say in scheduling," Thomas smirked.

"That is very good news indeed," Jimmy gasped against his lips. "You'd better get right on planning our next outing, Mr. Barrow, I don't think I can wait _another_ two months for this."

Thomas pushed away then, making as if to leave. "If you insist, I shall return at once and work on the schedule,"

"Don't you dare!" Jimmy pulled him back to him. He laughed into a kiss.

Jimmy pushed them down to the ground, straddling Thomas' waist. He pulled away for only a moment to retrieve the tattered old quilt next to the basket and hastily rolled it out over the flowers. Then quite suddenly, Thomas wrapped his arms around Jimmy's middle, and flipped them over until Jimmy could feel the soft fabric against his back.

Jimmy could feel his heart hammering in his chest. He clutched at Thomas' hands where they rested above his head.

Thomas moved down his body, his open mouth leaving a wet line from Jimmy's collarbone to the small cluster of freckles on Jimmy's right hip. He kissed each freckle reverently and slowly reached out to undo each button on Jimmy's trousers.

Thomas was trembling with desire. He pulled Jimmy's remaining clothes off, and hovered for a moment over him.

"I love you," he whispered hoarsely, as he trailed his fingers over an all but invisible scar just beneath Jimmy's right pectoral muscle.

"Come here," Jimmy said softly. He sat up until he was at eye level to Thomas. Jimmy pressed his lips softly to Thomas' right temple, where a streak of silver was coming through his dark hair. His fingers stroked the gentle slope of his nose, caressing the small scar left over from the beating he'd given him on that long ago afternoon in the wine cellar. He kissed the tip of his nose next, then across to his other temple. Finally, he pressed his mouth softly against the corner of Thomas' bottom lip.

"I adore you," Jimmy whispered against Thomas' cheek. "I need you, always, and forever, but in particular, I need you_ right now._"

Thomas moaned and kissed him deeply. "I'm happy to oblige, Mr. Kent."

He kissed down the nape of his neck, tasting the salty bite of perspiration against his tongue. But he froze suddenly. His breath was shaky and Jimmy opened his eyes, watching the lovely creature on top of him as his eyes darted towards the wooded path they had come from.

There have been very few times in the past few years that Jimmy had seen genuine fear from Thomas. It wasn't an expression that he had ever really associated with him, and to see it now, anxiety settled into the pit of _his_ stomach.

"Thomas, darling," Jimmy began, drawing a pattern across Thomas' cheek with his fingertips. "Is everything alright?"

Thomas was breathing heavily, and he was frantically searching the area around them.

"I thought I heard—" he shook his head, as if to clear it. "It's nothing, never mind," And he quickly divested himself of his own trousers.

Immediately, Jimmy grasped his erection, pumping him slowly and swirling his thumb over the tip in a circular pattern that he knew drove Thomas insane.

Thomas kissed him then, slowing Jimmy's hand with his own scarred one. Somehow his glove had been discarded with the rest of his clothes, and Thomas felt a flash of insecurity at the crooked bone and raised scarring.

But Jimmy felt his hesitation and gently brought Thomas' hand to his lips, kissing each knuckle worshipfully. He guided it down to his own erection and Thomas happily grasped him in his hand. Jimmy groaned at the contact, the contrast of Thomas' smooth fingers and his rough palm never failed to make his heart race.

There were only so many times Sargent could paint leaves on trees, and he quickly grew bored with the still country lane.

_Water on the other hand_, he thought, _you can paint water a million different ways and never grow bored. Especially on a beautiful day._

And so he packed up his watercolors and portable easel. He whistled his way to the lake. For a moment he was dazzled with the way the water sparkled in the sunshine. But then the flash of human skin caught his attention.

His breath caught in his throat as he saw two young men passionately kissing near the lake shore. They were lying naked on a faded quilt. One of the men had brilliant blond hair that shone in the sunlight. The other man was dark; the planes of his shoulders, which was all he could really see from his vantage point, were strong yet soft. He was naturally slender without the added benefit of extraneous exercise.

While the blond man was all sharp points and defined angles, the darker man was more fascinating to him. His body had curves and angles that seemed more natural, more sensual. He wasn't the perfect personification of manhood, and yet he exuded masculinity with every move he made. A near perfect subject in Sargent's eyes. His fingers itched to sketch them. He felt himself flush at his thoughts.

The sight before him made him feel somewhat sad. For the first time in a long time, he actually wanted to paint a human subject. He wanted to paint them, as they were, loving each other. For clearly they were deeply in love. He could see that with every touch, every glance. They were worshiping one another with their bodies. It was beautiful.

_To be young again! _He thought wistfully. _Instead of a broken down old codger…_

Sargent wanted to turn away, and let them continue in privacy. But another part of him, one that had for too long ignored his own passionate side, one that had for so long seen flesh as a subject to be painted and not as an object to be desired, that part never wanted to turn away.

He felt his own heart beat faster and ignored the pain that came with it, his eyes were glued to the two men in front of him. How long had it been since he'd made love to another? The dark haired man began to kiss the other man's neck, and the man beneath him groaned loudly. He turned his head up to allow more access and Sargent started.

With a gasp, he recognized the blond one as the footman who was valeting for him. _James_ _or_ _something like that_. He could not see the other man's face, but curiosity kept him looking. He needed to see his face, to see if it matched the sensuality of his body.

Suddenly, the darker man looked up. His eyes darted right over to where he was standing and he quickly ducked behind the nearest tree, his heart racing like it hadn't done in years.

As surreptitiously as he could, he peeked around the trunk of the tree. He smirked in recognition.

The other man was none other than the under butler. He had dealt with him numerous times over the several weeks he'd been at Downton.

_What a scandal, the first footman and an under butler. _

After a tense moment, Mr. Barrow relaxed, and kissed James again; Sargent let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

Mr. Carson had gone to London early to prepare the house for the Season, and Mr. Barrow had been left in charge at Downton. The family would be leaving in just over a week's time

_You should leave them alone…_ he chastised himself for even watching as long as he had. _Just come back later. The lake will still be there when they're gone. _

But he didn't do that. And he knew he wouldn't do that. This was the most excitement he'd had in years. And he knew without a shadow of a doubt, if he didn't get them down on paper, he'd regret it. He would regret not painting them. When was the last time he'd felt that way about a subject?

So, Sargent compromised. He would just sit here and sketch. If he happened to sketch that magnificent man's back from memory, what's the harm really? He can't see them, they can't see him, and when they aren't paying attention, he'll just slip away unnoticed d.

Of course, if they fell asleep… he could get a quick sketch in of them…that he could paint later. What's the harm really? He probably wouldn't ever exhibit it. And if he did, if it turned out to be amazing, one of his best works, no, _when_ he exhibited it, he'd keep it anonymous. No harm, no foul. Sargent smiled to himself. And here he thought life in the country would be boring.

They made love slowly, as they were wont to do when they had nowhere else to be. It wasn't like their fumbled couplings in the wine cellar or a china closet, or an unused bedroom on the fourth floor; on those days that they just absolutely could not wait for later that night in the storage attic that had become their personal hideaway. This was different. They moved leisurely, adoring one another with every touch.

Jimmy loved Thomas. Unequivocally, totally, and with complete abandon. It was the only way he knew how to love him.

There was no middle ground between them. There never had been.

It was all or nothing and Jimmy wouldn't have it any other way. And as his fingers gripped Thomas' silky dark hair, watching with rapt attention to what he was doing with his mouth, he bit out a shaky 'I love you' and cringed as his voice broke in emotion.

Thomas looked up from his task, smirked a lopsided smile, and twisted his fingers up and around the base of Jimmy's cock, his thumb brushing against the loose skin between his balls.

"_Jesus_, I really do love you, especially when you do _that_. Oh, please keep doing that," Jimmy hissed, his breath coming out in short bursts and gasps.

Thomas kissed Jimmy just below his navel, over a cluster of freckles that was partially hidden by a line of dark blond hair. "I love you too Jimmy. Always," he murmured against his skin. He kissed the tip of his penis and Jimmy bucked forward, aching for more contact.

He took him deep into his mouth, savoring the shiver that rushed through Jimmy's body. His own cock twitched against his thigh at the sounds coming from Jimmy.

He grasped Jimmy's hips, feeling lightheaded at the heady scent that was intrinsically _Jimmy_. The skin of his penis was smooth against his lips, and he swirled his tongue around the tip, eliciting a gasp from Jimmy. He felt him buck up against the back of his throat and Jimmy cried out.

It was too much. Too much sensation. He moaned, gripping Thomas' hair almost to the point of pain. His nails, his beautiful, perfectly manicured nails scraped lightly against Thomas' scalp and he moaned.

"Ah!" Jimmy's cock twitched in Thomas' mouth at the vibration of sound against his penis. "Shite! Thomas, if you keep doing that—I" Thomas hummed again, "If you—if you keep doing that, I'm gonna, _oh_, gonna—"

Thomas pulled away and smiled. He let his fingers slide up Jimmy's thighs, pressing him firmly against the quilt.

"Well," he murmured, his voice hoarse with desire, "We wouldn't want that."

"Yes we do! We very, _very_ much want that." Jimmy glared at him. Thomas was able to keep his face passive for almost an entire minute before the incredulous expression on Jimmy's face made him crack. He laughed and wrapped his hand around Jimmy's erection.

"You didn't honestly think I'd leave you in the lurch do you?"

Jimmy's face softened. "No, of course not." Jimmy pulled him up; he kissed him as gently as he could.

Thomas pushed him back down to the quilt and kissed Jimmy's stomach. He took him back into his mouth.

Jimmy was so close that every touch, every breath against his skin was too much. It was too much for him. "That feels… oh my God, that is… I'm so close Thomas, I love you, I love you—don't stop—"

And Thomas felt him tense up, and he pressed his palms deftly against the flat area on the lowest part of his abdomen. Jimmy cried out when he came, his entire body was trembling violently. Thomas swallowed, his eyes focused on Jimmy's face; his mouth was open in ecstasy. Thomas was achingly hard. He crawled up Jimmy's body, resting his head on his chest and listening to his heartbeat slow.

As Jimmy caught his breath, Thomas stroked his hair. "Hmmm," he whispered. "This was a wonderful idea I had. Really,"

"Hmm, yes. It was." Thomas subtly pressed his erection against Jimmy's hip.

"What do you want?" Jimmy whispered in Thomas' hair.

Thomas smiled. _I win_, he thought. "Hmm, dealer's choice," he said.

He'd take anything at this point, if he were being honest.

Jimmy grinned. He reached out towards his pants. "I love dealer's choice." Jimmy pulled out a small jar of petrol jelly, and handed it to Thomas.

"I know you do." Thomas smirked. He opened the jelly and scooped some out.

James lifted his knees, and Thomas gently prepared him, whispering nonsense in Jimmy's ears to make him laugh and relax. The necessities were still rather uncomfortable between them, even after so many years together.

Once he was ready, Thomas settled himself over him. He spread the rest of the jelly against his erection and pressed against Jimmy's entrance.

Jimmy opened his eyes, as Thomas entered him, his mouth opening slightly in discomfort.

"It really has been too long," he gasped and Thomas kissed him softly.

"You alright?" Thomas asked, "Do we need to try something different?"

Jimmy shook his head, and pressed closer to Thomas, silently giving him permission to move.

"Do you love me?" he whispered against Thomas' lips. Thomas made a small noise of exasperation in the back of his throat and pulled back slightly. He looked Jimmy straight in the eye. It was always the same. At some point every time they made love, Thomas never knew when, Jimmy's insecurity would overwhelm him and he'd ask that question. A question he loved and hated at the same time.

For whatever reason, Jimmy wasn't completely sure that Thomas loved him. It was one of the most exasperating part of their relationship.

Thomas gripped both sides of Jimmy's face, stroking his thumbs over his cheeks. "Jimmy, if there's anything that you should be one hundred percent sure of, it's the fact that I love you. More than I've ever loved anyone in my entire life."

"Even after—"

"—If you finish that sentence with 'I nearly ruined your life, and you might still have some resentment towards me for it,' I will pinch you somewhere that will be highly unpleasant for you but quite satisfying on my end," Thomas said, his voice slipping automatically into the tone he used while chastising the hall boys.

Jimmy's face broke into a radiant smile. "I love you too."

Thomas moved slowly, trying to be considerate, but he was _so tight_, and it had been _so long_. Thomas knew it wouldn't take long. Jimmy matched his breathing, letting his fingers press against his back with every thrust.

"I'm very close," he murmured. "I… oh _Jesus_, Jimmy I love you so much," he felt himself quicken, his heart was hammering in his chest.

"Come for me darling," Jimmy stroked his face, his fingertips pressed on the extra sensitive spot just below his ears and Thomas cried out. He came, shaking and shuddering against him until finally, he all but collapsed onto Jimmy's chest, spent.

The stayed like that for a moment, connected, until Jimmy moved his hips and winced slightly. Thomas pulled out and reached into his pants pocket for a handkerchief. They cleaned up as best they could and lay back down on the quilt.

Thomas' cheek was resting comfortably in the crook of Jimmy's arm as their legs tangled together. He could feel the soft petals of the wildflowers move against his bare feet with the breeze and he sighed. He was sleepy and content.

"Let's never move from this spot," he said. "Let's build a cottage right here on this lake and it can be our hideaway from the world. No one would know. We could nick vegetables from the estate garden and…" Thomas trailed off.

"We should do that," Jimmy murmured. He was right on the edge of sleep. "Will you read to me?" he asked.

Thomas smiled. He sat up, rummaging in his jacket pocket until he found the battered old copy of Coleridge poems they'd found earlier that week. He propped himself up on his elbows and opened the book. To his surprise, it was littered with notes in the margins, but the text was still legible.

He flipped through the pages for a moment before he chuckled softly. Thomas cleared his throat. "Desire, by Samuel Coleridge," he began. Jimmy chuckled. He pulled out the bread and cheese from the picnic basket that Ivy had packed for him and fed him bits of the food as Thomas read.

"How appropriate,"

"Where true Love burns Desire is Love's pure flame;

It is the reflex of our earthly frame,

That takes its meaning from the nobler part,

And but translates the language of the heart."

Jimmy turned onto his side, so he could watch Thomas read. "How sweet," he teased, tickling Thomas right below his ribs. "Are all his poems so flowery?"

Thomas looked at him, affronted. "You're the one who wanted me to read to you."

"Yes well, couldn't you have brought your copy of Sherlock Holmes instead?"

Thomas rolled his eyes.

"Eventually, you'll grow to appreciate real literature,"

Jimmy scoffed. "Today is not that day, my love." He sat up quickly, running a hand through his hair. He pulled at Thomas' arm. "Come on, let's swim."

Thomas groaned. "Do we have to?" he whined like a child.

"Yes, Mr. Barrow. We do." Jimmy stood and winked over his shoulder as he ran towards the rotting dock.

"Jimmy! Be careful! You'll fall and break your neck on that death trap!"

But Jimmy didn't fall to his death. Actually, he rather gracefully dived into the water. His perfect back was arched as it slipped into the water, with hardly a splash. His head breached the water and he emerged laughing.

"Come on!" he yelled. "The water's lovely. There are warm springs!"

Thomas rolled his eyes and followed him, jumping in feet first.

Jimmy had lied. The water was freezing.

"You lyin' bloody arse!" he yelled as soon as he emerged from the water. Jimmy laughed and splashed him. Thomas splashed back.

Before it turned into an all-out war however, Thomas grabbed Jimmy around the waist and kissed him deeply. Jimmy laughed into the kiss; they tread water, legs tangling together as they embraced lightly.

Thomas could feel himself becoming aroused again and pulled back, pressing one more kiss to Jimmy's lips before splashing him spectacularly in the face.

"Now you've had it, Thomas!" Jimmy sputtered as he tried to wipe the water from his eyes.

They swam for nearly an hour, racing across the lake, splashing and altogether having a great time before finally Thomas gave up, citing his wrinkled fingers as an excuse to dry off.

He climbed out of the water and shook out his hair, intending to finish reading his book of poetry.

Jimmy was close behind him, collapsing onto the quilt and snuggling up next to Thomas; he rested his cheek on Thomas' stomach, liking the way the soft skin of is belly rose and feel with every breath Thomas made.

Thomas softly began to read aloud.

He let his fingers trail through the hair on Thomas' chest and stomach; watching him react to his touch was one of Jimmy's favorite activities. Thomas tried to ignore him and continue reading, but when Jimmy's fingers traced over his crotch, he felt the first stirrings of desire once more.

Lazily, Jimmy wrapped his hand around Thomas' hard cock just exploring a body that he knew almost as well as his own. Thomas let him, occasionally making appreciative moans or exclamations, but otherwise continued to read.

It was so domestic. Jimmy tried to pull Thomas' attention away and Thomas refused to give in, all the while letting Jimmy have his way with him. Jimmy teased him, bringing him off just because he wanted to. Just because he loved him. He went slowly, building tension while still remaining deliberate. It was languid, quiet and peaceful.

And after a particularly well placed swipe of Jimmy's thumb, Thomas came without warning, his hands clenched around his book and he moaned, breaking the rhythm of his recitation.

Jimmy smiled in triumph and reverently cleaned Thomas' stomach and hands with a handkerchief. He then lay next to Thomas and pulled the book from his hands. He began to read and Thomas drifted off to sleep, turning onto his side to better hear jimmy's soft voice read to him.

Finally Jimmy finished the recitation and he too drifted off to sleep, his hand on his chest as his head rested against Thomas'. It was the deep sleep of a lazy afternoon by the lake.

Sargent had nodded off shortly after the boys had started swimming, even though he'd tried his level best to remain awake. From his hiding spot he could hear James' soft voice as he read Coleridge and he smiled. He continued to sketch. His back ached from leaning against the hard bark of the tree and his feet were tingling. But it didn't matter, he'd never felt more alive.

Eventually he no longer heard the sound of the footman's voice and he cautiously turned to see if they had finally fallen asleep. Surreptitiously he pulled out his watercolors and a new canvas.

He smiled. As quietly as he could, he emerged from his hiding place. They were lying with their faces close together. The darker man was on his side, his hand resting over James' hair. James was on his back. The sun was bearing down on his chest, and his skin was turning pink.

It was a beautiful scene. Sargent smiled, his hands were itching to capture it on paper. He pulled out a small pencil and etched out a quick sketch, outlining their bodies and the scene, he mixed some colors quickly and filled in a preliminary painting, one far from the end product he hoped to achieve, but it certainly would not do for them to wake up as their guest painted them as they slept.

He finished his quick painting, intending to finish the real thing later on and slipped away quietly, letting them sleep the afternoon away.

When they awoke, they made love again.

After they recovered, they finished eating the wine and cheese from their picnic and finally dressed, wincing as the fabric brushed against their sunburned skin.

The sun was falling beneath the trees when they finally made it back to the house. As they passed through the kitchen yard, they could hear Mrs. Patmore screaming at Daisy to fix the hollandaise sauce and they both smiled. Home again at last.

Thomas opened the door for Jimmy as they entered the house. Each of them grabbed a cup of tea left over from the afternoon's meal and hurried upstairs. Thomas and Jimmy sat in Jimmy's room playing cards as dinner was served by Alfred and Henry, a hall boy who was hoping to become a footman when Jimmy was promoted, and then headed back downstairs for the servant's dinner. Anna quietly asked about their day off and they smiled and evaded, making small talk. James was horribly sunburned. As was Thomas.

Their night ended like any other night; they went to bed in their respective rooms and as soon as all of the other servants had fallen asleep they snuck off to their secret attic room and their large feather bed to sleep in on another's arms.

"I love you," he whispered into Thomas' ear as they let the moonlight float down over them.

"It was a perfect day," Thomas murmured, "Even if you got me burned,"

Jimmy snickered. "I'm just as burned as you are, perhaps more so,"

"When do you think we can get another day off?" Thomas sighed, pressing his lips into Jimmy's soft hair.

"Hmm, the family leaves next week right?"

Thomas hummed in assent. "But they might postpone so that Sargent fellow can finish Sybbie and George's painting."

"Well, why don't we wait until after they're gone, and perhaps we can go into Ripon for a night, or a quick trip to London?"

"That sounds great," Thomas was almost asleep.

"Are you listening?"

"Not really,"

"We'll figure it out."

They fell asleep in peace, holding one another in their arms.

The next week passed much like the previous weeks, Thomas and Jimmy returned to work, and the house was a frenzy of activity as the family prepared to move to their London home for the Season.

But before they left, they had implored Sargent to display the works that he had completed while in the countryside.

He had grumbled and tried to refuse, but eventually Lady Grantham convinced him. They put together a party for his exhibition and all the local toffs showed up. As tiring as he found the whole thing, he knew that the exposure of his works would help with his social standing. And so he did. The portrait he displayed front and center in the saloon, the oils he did around the estate were lined around the drawing room. But he was most proud of the watercolors that he had spread out in the music room, library and north library.

On the evening of the exhibition, Thomas was serving cocktails in the drawing room when quite suddenly Jimmy had appeared next to him. He was obviously in some sort of panic.

"What's the matter James?" Thomas asked in his most butlery tone.

"Thomas—I mean—Mr. Barrow, you need to come with me _right_ now."

Thomas raised his eyes, but whispered to Alfred to continue with the cocktails and that he'd be right back.

Jimmy grabbed him by the elbow and took him through the smoking room and into the pink room, there, innocently lined up were a series of sketches. Of course, not many of the guests ventured into the pink room due to its rather drafty nature and a particular musk that came from the tapestries.

These sketches were nudes. Thomas raised his eyebrows, who at Downton would agree to do a nude for Sargent. A sudden mental image of the Dowager wrapped in a sheet on a chaise lounge and felt ill.

He peered closer. All of the nudes displayed were male. Upon closer inspection, he realized that they all bore a remarkable to himself.

"What the bloody hell is this?" he asked quietly. Panic was beginning to set in.

"You know how I said, um, we wouldn't get caught at the lake?"

"Jimmy…"

"Well… I think we got caught."

"What makes you think that?" Thomas asked, his voice hoarse.

"Come here," Jimmy pointed over to the corner of the room. "You're not going to like this."

And there, innocently framed in light wood was a watercolor painting of two men lying asleep next to a body of water.

Thomas' mouth opened in horror. "Jimmy… what is this?"

"I, uh, I believe it's called 'Tommies Bathing'"

"It's called WHAT?" Thomas roared. He pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. "James, can you please see if our esteemed guest would come here for a moment?"

James nodded once. A few minutes later, Sargent emerged from the smoking room with James hot on his trail.

Thomas pulled him aside and for a moment glared at him. They'd gotten along fine during his stay, but Thomas was about to lose his patience with the grandfatherly artist.

"I take it you've seen my watercolor then."

"Mr. Sargent, is there something you should tell me?"

But Sargent was unable to answer because at that moment, none other than the Dowager Countess of Grantham walked into the room.

"Oh I do love charcoal sketches," she said loudly. Thomas' eyes widened in horror and watched as she walked over to the infamous painting.

"Oh bollocks," he whispered under his breath as she studied the small painting intently.

"Well, isn't this an interesting scene," she said. For one brief moment she looked directly at Jimmy and Thomas as they were horrorstruck in front of her. She then turned to Sargent. "It's always nice to find a variety of subjects isn't it?"

She winked surreptitiously at Thomas who was staring agog at her. Then Thomas looked over at Jimmy who couldn't help the smirk that was currently plastered across his face.

"Sargent, I would like to purchase this painting," she said. "Of course," Sargent said, bowing lightly. He left the room, picking up the painting on his way out.

She nodded and pulled Jimmy aside. She whispered something in his ear and he did a double take. "Of course, m'lady," he replied.

She smiled tightly at him.

"Good then."

Thomas and Jimmy were left alone in the Pink Room. They were silent for a whole minute before suddenly Thomas burst out in laughter. It wasn't long before Jimmy followed suit. They stood and laughed for ten minutes at the situation they had suddenly found themselves in. But finally Alfred found them, going on about some sort of catastrophe in the drawing room.

A few weeks later Thomas received a parcel in the mail with a letter attached that read "Open in private."

When the opened it hours later, their painting was staring back at them.

They kept it with them in their attic for years, and when they finally moved on from Downton, it went with them, a beautiful reminder of a perfect afternoon spent by the lake.


End file.
